In the darkly comic mythological fable Cracking Zeus, playwright Christopher T. Hampton brings a vengeful goddess down to earth. But while the play, inventively staged by Reginald L. Douglas, reaches for divine comedy, Spooky Action Theatre’s production remains earthbound.
The angry deity in question is Hera (Nicole Ruthmarie), who deigns to set foot on Earth for the sole purpose of exacting revenge on one of her husband Zeus’ many mistresses by punishing the progeny of their affair.
That mistress would be Momma Jo (Lolita Marie), the founder, owner, treasurer, and pastor of a street corner chapel in the ’90s inner city, and her son Baniaha (Charles Franklin IV), the congregation’s youth group leader, is the ill-fated son of Zeus. Although, Baniaha doesn’t know who his father is.
He also doesn’t know that, like many a Bible thumper, Momma Jo didn’t use to walk the straight-and-narrow. But Rufus (DeJeanette Horne), the so-called “crackhead” who squats on the sidewalk outside the church, he knows. He claims to know a lot about Jo’s life before she found Jesus, while she does her best to keep the church youth far away from him and whatever truth he might reveal.
Still, drug-addled Rufus winds up holding court on the chapel’s new marble steps, pontificating sometimes wisely about the blights ravaging the city, and about the goddess who, at first, appears only to him. In a dynamic performance, Horne spins Rufus’ street philosopher revelries into a rich portrait of a mind and soul lost to addiction, though perhaps not irrevocably.
Marie’s jittery, domineering Momma Jo similarly offers a dense, colorful palette of tics and emotions that fill in some of those blanks she keeps buried in the past. In their vital supporting turns, Horne and Marie amp up the tension.
Playing the youth choir members, Bowie State’s Jacobie Thornton, and Howard U. acting students Destiny Jennings, Dupre Isaiah, and Christina Daniels as the most kindhearted of them, bring vibrant comedic energy to their roles as a veritable Greek chorus.
The emotional weight of the piece falls on Hera and Baniaha, however, and, in those roles, respectively, Ruthmarie and Franklin register the intention without the full force of feeling behind it.
Gorgeously costumed, if not that originally, in goddess white throughout, Ruthmarie conveys Hera’s haughtiness, expressed in her plummy, eloquent speeches. The language rolls off Ruthmarie’s tongue and sits there, a mellifluous sound signifying disdain and displeasure, but disconnected from the hurt and humiliation that might motivate this queen to plot something so evil as getting someone hooked on crack.
Douglas’ production realizes Hampton’s fanciful depiction of the crack-ridden ’90s with astute design and details — like the Washington Bullets jersey and FUBU tee on the kids — that also evoke the story’s nods to ancient Greek myth. From the chapel’s marble steps, to the Greek drama-masked figures whose haunting dance interludes signal a descent into a crack high, ancient and modern religion meet on Momma Jo’s corner.
There, Hampton lands the play’s surest insight, that crack didn’t just happen to the hood, but was a deliberately wielded weapon of mass destruction.
Cracking Zeus (★★☆☆☆) runs through Oct. 13, at Universalist National Memorial Church, 1810 16th St. NW. Tickets are $15 to $38. Call 202-248-0301, or visit www.spookyaction.org.
Forest Hills is alive with the sounds of salsa, disco, and '70s soul inside the Castro household, ground zero for the devastating domestic events of John Leguizamo's new drama The Other Americans.
One of seven world premieres marking Arena Stage's 2024-25 season, The Other Americans arrives in a powerhouse production directed by award-winning actor-director Ruben Santiago-Hudson, and led by Leguizamo as proudly Colombian-American laundromat owner and family man Nelson Castro.
Nelson holds court in his expansive home in affluent, mostly white Forest Hills, Queens, having moved his family from what he calls "ghetto-ass" Jackson Heights. A scrappy business owner with a small empire of 'mats all over the borough, he might say he's living the American dream, but we're here to witness him waking up to very harsh reality.
For those who are about to dive into Gladiator II feeling foggy about where the first film left off, director Ridley Scott salutes you with a pithy animated opening-credit sequence recapping the saga of champion Maximus Decimus Meridius.
He died.
The former Roman general, forced into bondage as a combatant in the arena, went out a hero, memorably portrayed by Russell "Are you not entertained?" Crowe, who took home an Oscar for his swaggering performance. Maximus' snotty nemesis, the Emperor Commodus, played by Joaquin Phoenix, also bit the dust, so, seemingly, the film tied up its loose ends.
As if theater performers didn't already expose several dimensions of themselves onstage, even while in the guise of fictional roles, Mosaic's world-premiere The Art of Care demands an extra degree of emotional and individual nakedness rarely required of actors.
No one in the cast has to strip down, per se, but each member of the seven-person ensemble bares intimate glimpses at some of their own most vulnerable, even painful moments. Conceived and directed by Derek Goldman, The Art of Care was developed with its cast, who weave oral storytelling, dramatic scenes, songs, and movement into a warm tapestry of testimony, both to the caregivers in their lives, and to the care they've given.
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